Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
Josie
Axe wasn’t kidding. The document is fifty-two pages, and there’s even an entire section on “intimacy.” It’s all legalese, a language I don’t speak.
Not that it really matters. I’m out of options anyway.
When I got home yesterday, my mom ambushed me in the guesthouse.
“We’re already at our goal. Told you that you should have posted,” she said, all smug delight, and I was too tired to fight.
My car’s got a shiny new tire, courtesy of Strike’s black Amex.
Pocket change to him, but I’ll pay him back.
I wrote down the exact amount, down to the penny, so I can Venmo him the second Axe’s promised signing bonus hits.
Work is work. I’ve been a store clerk for years, and I once spent a summer doing tarot readings at a fold-out table outside a coffee shop. I’ve been a waitress, a nanny, a gas station cashier, a barista. This job at SynthoTech is just another gig.
Grace—Honor’s twin—used to make extra cash as an escort, not that Honor ever knew. They had a lot of secrets between them, but they kept their own, too. Grace once showed me her personal ad in the back of the Shelton Free Press and then put a finger to her lips, like Don’t tell.
I didn’t judge her then, and I’m not judging myself now.
Grace earned her cash, no pity involved. And I’m so fucking done with pity.
I skim the “intimacy” section:
Both parties agree and acknowledge that solicitation and paying for sexual acts is illegal in the State of Pennsylvania, and is in no way expressly or implied to be part of Josie Greene’s employment at SynthoTech.
Okay, cool. No sex. Nice and clear. I keep reading.
SynthoTech is a technological company developing an AI system designed to sexually satisfy its end user.
Both parties acknowledge that this may involve discussing graphic sexual acts and the use of haptic skins.
Both parties waive any sexual harassment claims related to these discussions or tech usage and testing…
Wait, what? I read it again. I get the sexy talk—that was expected. You can’t create an AI girlfriend without some phone sex or sexting.
But a haptic skin?
WTF is a haptic skin? I text Axe. After I hit send, it occurs to me that I didn’t have to reach out. I could have googled it. Before I can even open Safari, though, Axe has written back.
I see you’re reading the fine print. Good lass
The good lass irks me, but I like how fast he wrote back. If I’d texted Bryan, it would’ve taken him three hours to respond with some nonsense like whassssup.
I’m still reeling from the fact that I wasted four years of my life on that garbage human.
Just the other day, I got a fraud alert on my credit card because Bryan tried to party at a strip club on my dime.
He also bombarded Grace find someone else. Literally anyone.
Aye, don’t slow down, lass! I hear the lilt of his Scottish brogue in my imagination, as soft and teasing as I imagine his tongue would be.
And then it’s too late. I’m gone.